I caught The Ingraham Angle last night, for the first time, and was appalled. First, Ms. Ingraham appeared a little loopy, as though she were, well, high.

The woman was loud, shouting over her guests in an unedifying manner, just because she could; just because she had the microphone. Not once did Ms. Ingraham puncture a Guest’s attempts to speak with meaningful argument, as the great Tucker Carlson does.

Tucker listens, he doesn’t talk over someone unless that someone is babbling. And Tucker, flaws and all (for he’s not pure Old Right, but he’s the best we have), is very sharp. He pierces a Guest’s case with good argument. (And his spontaneous laugh is adorable.)

Ms. Ingraham, on the other hand, is all wrong. Unconservative, unthinking, and yesterday, plain dopey, grinning inanely.

In particular, during the segment about rap lyrics, Ingraham declared, un-conservatively, that she loved all music. A serious conservative might have distinguished music (based on objective elements of composition) from rap.

And a methodical thinker—there are none on Fox News—would understand that while in older, contemporary American music, popular composers were smart enough to write gorgeous lyrics—lyrics are not music.

Put it this way, if the greatest composer ever, Johann Sebastian Bach, set his divine, godly cantatas to the naught lyrics of Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales, would I decry these sublime compositions as immoral? Of course not. The music would still be sublime.

Rap is BAD, and not only because of the filthy lyrics. Rap, simply put, is not music.

Conservative emphasis on lyrics is confused. First, separate music from lyrics. Then, make the conservative case that you cannot endorse rap qua music, because it isn’t music. Rap might be street theater, but music it isn’t. Then, as a side issue, add that rap theater and dance is set to filthy grunts and coitus-like movements.

That’s my own traditionalist case against rap. Ms. Ingraham, on the other hand, is a multiculturalist who loves all “music,” including some rap. And being a broadminded broad, she errs in considering rap to be music.

Some respite. A thoughtful reader sends the lyrics and music of “Brother Of Mine” by Yes.

Brother Of Mine

So giving all the love you have
Never be afraid to show your heart
So giving all the love you have
There is a special reason
A special reason

In the Big Dream
We are heroes
We are dreamers
Of the Big Dream

Someone told me
There are brothers
Live forever
In the big sky

Just hear your voice
Sing all the songs of the earth
Nothing can come between us
You’re a brother of mine

Sing out you sisters
All the dreams of the world
Nothing can come between us
We the travellers of time

See the desert
We have walked the path
Of all the known religions

In the Big Dream
We are brothers, we are sisters
Of the Big Dream

Just hear your voice
Sing all the songs of the earth
Nothing can come between us
You’re a brother of mine

Sing out you sisters
All the dreams of the world
Nothing can come between us

Took me by surprise
It opened up my eyes
I can’t believe we’re ready to
Run another
Run another
Run another

Fourth Dimension Dream
Always the way it seems
I can’t believe we’re ready to
See the world for what it really is
In the full moon

Took me by surprise
It opened up my eyes
I can’t believe we’re ready to
Run another
Run another
Run another

Fourth dimension dream
Always the way it seems

Just hear the voice
In all the songs of the earth
Nothing can come between us
You’re a brother of mine

We hold our hands together
Be the sunshine
Nothing can come between us
You’re a sister of time

Just hear the voice
Sing all the songs of the earth
Nothing can come between us
Nothing can come between us
Nothing can come between us

So give it all the love you have
Never be afraid to show your heart
So giving all the love you have
There is a special reason to come true

So giving all the love you have
Never be afraid to show your heart
So give it all the love you have
There is a special reason
There is a special reason this time

Long lost brother of mine
Seeing my life for the first time
Long lost brother of mine
Living my life in the Big Dream

Long lost brother of mine
Walking away from illusion
Long lost brother of mine
Seeing my life for the first time

Long lost brother of mine
Seeing me fly like an eagle
Long lost brother of mine
Watching me walk in the full moon
Long lost brother of mine
Seeing my life for the first time
Long lost brother of mine
Walking this dream everlasting

So it’s there
Putting one into one special reason
So it’s there
Putting one into one
One another. Sure can. Sure can

It’s a further dimension
Coming at us for the very first time
It’s the second attention
Realising it all of the time

Re-defining this long lost passion
For the living we’re in
This will be the first of many
I be telling you

Long lost brother of mine
Walking the dream evolution
Long lost brother of mine
Singing the sisters of freedom
Long lost brother of mine
Seeing the fathers of wisdom
Long lost brother of mine
Seeing my life for the first time

So it’s there, but to want it to one special reason
Yes it’s there, but to want it to want one another
So it’s there, but to want it to one special reason
Yes it’s there, you can see what you want to see

Long lost brother of mine…

Written by Geoff Downes, John Roy Anderson, Rick Wakeman, Steve James Howe, William Scott

Gorgeous, entertainer, great dancer, great beauty, well-coordinated, fabulous at twerking, a glorified lap dance: Beyoncé is all those. A musician she is not.

At last, someone who is a musician calls it as it is. Carlos Santana stands firm (no apology tour, maestro), insisting that Beyoncé is no musician:

“With all respect to our sister Beyoncé,” he said, “Beyoncé is very beautiful to look at and it’s more like modeling kind of music—music to model a dress—she’s not a singer, singer, with all respect to her.”

What a lovely analogy! The girl models a song. All the video vixens act and model their “numbers.” Without the indispensable aid of the almighty Auto-Tune, Katy Perry would sound even more like a chipmunk. That’s fine. There’s a market for this. But please don’t call it music.

Santana stands against decades of pop-porn marketed as “music.” He knows that definitions matter. We need to know the difference between Santana’s playing and the two-chord wonders in most bands today.

Al Jarreau retired from performing last week. And then he died. Poetic.
Al Jarreau was perfection. A giant of music, in general, and of the soul-jazz genre, in particular. And no, Gaga (she’s the best in a bad bunch), Beyonce and the twat Madonna are circus animals, entertainers, no more. Except that for their assaults on the ear, these artistes should be made to suffer the abuse innocent circus animals endure (yes, why don’t the pinhead preachers quit lecturing and do something for performer animals who perform under such duress).

You realize how rotten popular music is when you listen to this man.

Young in Spain:

Older in Spain. Al Jarreau is still perfection, as is Steve Gadd, both are sublime, better than anything that ululates and twerks on stage these days, and is nothing without the almighty Auto-Tune.